 | Poems, with a maske |  |
A Fancy.
Mark how this polisht Eastern sheetDoth with our Northern tincture meet,
For though the paper seem to sink,
Yet it receives, and bears the Ink;
And on her smooth soft brow these spots
Seem rather ornaments than blots;
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Mysteriously about your face;
Not only to set off and break
Shaddowes and Eye beams, but to speak
To the skild Lover, and relate
Vnheard, his sad or happy Fate:
Nor doe their Characters delight,
As careless workes of black and white
But 'cause you underneath may find
A sense that can informe the mind;
Divine, or moral rules impart
Or Raptures of Poetick Art:
So what at first was only fit
To fold up silkes, may wrap up wit.
| Poems, with a maske | |